


All In Your Head

by FromAshesToStardust



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1991, Awkward Flirting, Ball, Books, Breakups, Buffet, Candles, Dreams and Nightmares, F/F, F/M, Facebook, Formal Dance, Formalwear, Hogwarts, Hogwarts First Year, Hogwarts House Sorting Ceremony, House Elves, Luggage, Magic, Memory, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Modern Day, Obscurials (Harry Potter), Orchestra, Party, Responsibility, Stairs, Statute of Secrecy, Swearing, The Sorting Hat, Time Skips, Time Travel, dad jokes, manor, preventing very bad things, yeah i don't know her either
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-02 20:58:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15804453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromAshesToStardust/pseuds/FromAshesToStardust
Summary: After a recent breakup, you stumble upon a world you thought was fictional - and a part of it is vying to tear you apart.





	1. The Night My Life Began

The night I met him, was the night my life began. And it all began with a slip of a tongue.

The trouble derived from clumsy beginnings: an innocent mistake. A muggle house, a muggle room. There I was, standing in silence at the bottom of the muggle stairs staring upwards towards her, my then-fiancee. Both our eyes sparkled and glistened in the chrome hue of the lamp-light, our hollow figures positioned limply as if reimagined in some faded dream. The fear which ran red through my veins had frozen my muscles and clenched my jaw. Trembling, we met gazes for the last time as she through her ring to the floor. I can't believe I forgot her birthday. And now, October 25th is forever branded on my mind.

I had been invited out to a ball, you see. A fancy one. A formal one. One which involved an evening of dancing and drinks. At a manor on a hill. I offered to take her both before and after I'd realised my mistake. In fact, I insisted and begged her, promising I'd make it up to her. And I know I should've stayed. And yet I have the guts to miss her. With all my sorry heart.

Mortified, I wrapped up in a trench coat hurried out the door, my heels clapping against the pavement and guiding me into the distance. The wind bit at my fingertips and clawed at my cheeks as if it was my conscience, or karma, or she. A distant beat and jovial scream caught itself in my dress as I tugged at the hood to mask my face and smother my expression. Still, I clambered on, trekking up to the beacon on the hill.

Soon enough, I was greeted by an imposing structure staring me down. Was this a trick? A trap? Was I even wanted here? Should I go? My gut was doing back-flips and my heart was running wild; there was something electric about this place. The buzzing inside yearned for me. Defiantly, I swallowed my pride, slipped off my cloak and clambered on inside.

It was as if I had slipped into a pool and was swimming in culture and bathing in light. A bath of aromas on my right, pirouetting from the buffet, spiralling from the bouquets. Champagnes and roses. Cheesecakes and chestnuts. Chocolates and strawberries: they had it all. Roars of chatter littered in circles flooded the floors of the ball. Whole spectrums of light dappled the ceiling, defacing it with shapes and spirals and sprinkles of dreams. Women draped in spooling frills and fabrics manned the evening, plastered in bright-red lip stains and eyeliner designed to kill, smothered in skincare and topped off with masks erupting with faux flowers and fishnet sheets. They stared each other down with expressions of green, grasping at the waistcoats of men who took their fancy, leaning in only to whisper sweet obscenities down their ear canals. And it seemed, I was underdressed. Hideously underdressed. If looks could kill, I'd kill myself. I'd probably die of embarrassment.

The likelihood of catching someone's eye was slim. This farce was designed for bragging, after all! Or, at least, that's what they wanted me to think. So I told myself, (Y/N), if you have the nerve to turn up to a modern-day masquerade looking like a scullery maid in comparison, you're damn well gonna embrace it. And so laziness, I rocked up to the bar. And glided along it. Well, actually. I fell, okay. I fell. Awkwardly, I hauled myself up to the counter where I found myself head-down, half-asleep, half an hour later. Naturally, there were two gentlemen sharing a conversation next to me. So I decided that I'd stay face-down for the sake of my eyes and hope whatever tea-spilling they were up to would scorch me into the warm embrace of death.

"I am astonished Dumbledore sent me out here - of all people - to help you with this, Scamander. However," a voice like velvet continued, "should you not find a suitable muggle I will be more than delighted or perhaps even inclined to fake a tragedy to cover you"

"Why are you placing the responsibility to find one solely on me?" the blonde mess of a boy replied.

"You'll find me on the balcony, should you run into trouble"

"But, Sir!". And the familiar voice vanished. We were alone. Sheepishly, I lifted my head, tilting my gaze to get a better look at this guy. Maybe I'd woken up at a Harry Potter convention? Maybe I was dreaming? Maybe I'd misheard but I was certain I knew that name and those voices from somewhere. This couldn't be a coincidence, surely? Maybe a sick joke? An inside joke I'd never understand?

The blonde boy turned on his heel to walk away but instead ended up colliding with my torso. Ouch.

"I know a muggle" I blurted out.

"Yeah...there are hundreds here. I just need one who has (Y/C) hair and a blue dre-. Wait. You heard our conversation, didn't you?"

"What ya gonna do? Obliviate me? Pa-lease"

"H-How do you? Are you a witch too?". Chuckling heartily, I tried my best for composure to avoid the guy any future shame, but it was hard to come.

"Alas, no. Although it would be more convenient than muggledom, I guess"

"Oh, um, er, you have...wait," Scamander rifled through his suit pocket and pulled out a tattered paperback emblazoned with the title 'A GUIDE TO MUGGLE FLIRTING'. My eyebrow raised so quickly that it was as if it was trying to fling itself off my forehead. The poor young man sheepishly extended his hand and began reciting a few expressions from his phrase book.

"W-would you care to join me for a dance?" he beamed. His subsequent smile was like the midday Sun, with innocence gleaming from every crevice, refracting from every angle. I guess I well and truly had to embrace my scruffiness now! And so with a pride as ripe as day, I placed my hand in his and lead him to the dance floor.

The closer to the middle we got, the more anxious the young man appeared. It was clear that he was far out of his depth. In all fairness, so was I.

"If you don't want to, that's fine you know. I'll stick with ya, either way, if you want, I guess". Bashfully, I snuck a thread of hair back behind my ear, catching a glimpse at my boots which stuck out like a sore thumb in a place this extravagant and regal. Scamander placed a gentle hand on my waist as he so amiably sighed.

"I've done this before. It's alright. I-I think I know you from somewhere" he paused, gazing inquisitively into the distance, "Yes, I know you. You're (Y/N), right? Yes, you're the right mug- I mean. Yes, this is...brilliant". Slightly taken-a-back but willing to do anything at this point to run away from my problems, I rested my hand on his shoulder in response.

"Okay, I guess. Take it away then, Mr Darcy"

"Who's Mr Darcy?"

"A guy". We spent the remainder of the night moving as one to the sounds of an orchestra, losing ourselves in conversation about casting spells n shit whilst unintentionally captivating the room with the unlikeliness of the pairing. I looked like I'd just fallen down a rabbit hole whereas he looked like a strange mix of Eddie Redmayne and an actual Mr Darc-oh.

"We've spent the entire evening raving to Mozart and yet I haven't asked you your name"

"Oh-I'm Rolf. Rolf Scamander" he nodded, "and you (Y/F/N) will come to know me better in time"

"You're Newt's grandson aren't you? And why do you say with such sad eyes?". There was a clear prescience in his tone which echoed down his throat, causing him to swallow to bury it at the depths of his stomach - where it looked like it hurt the most.

"C-Can you follow me, a minute?" he stuttered to the death of our rhythm.

"S-Sure". Smash. A million shards of glass scattered and scraped across the floor's veneer and laid like a lifeless pattern, like a macabre disco ball reflecting the face of fear above the sycophantic crowd onto the terror in their own. A chaotic, violent, aggressive and ruthlessly destructive ball of shadow had swung its body through the window and into the arms of the bartenders, unleashing gallons of alcoholic flood water upon the horrified crowd, forming what seemed like an eighth sea. Two pure white eyes glowing from the centre of the mass met my own.

"That's an obscuria-". Rolf clasped his hand around mine and tugged at it.

"RUN!". Throwing caution to the wind we bolted to door at the side of the stage as the thunderous beast threw stools in the air and split counters in two, snapping the necks and clawing at the faces of the party itself. Hand in hand we leapt down a staircase and crashed like an almighty explosion through a fire exit, pegging it out of the building before death could grab any of us by the ankles. Onlookers from the balcony shrieked out their lungs as they acknowledged the two of us racing into the adjacent forest. Everyone except a dark figure who watched on, entranced, with his robes and locks alike waving majestically in the midnight breeze.

Ardently, we hurried down and off the path, desperate not to be traced. My heart was hammering traitorously against my ribcage, my feet I could no longer feel. My ankles I knew would be screwed from running in wedges. Nothing a good ol' episkey can't fix though, eh?

Rolf stammered forward and managed to wedge his foot in the undertow, the force of which slammed him into the solid ground, causing his wand to fly from out of his grip. Not a sound escaped the poor boy's lips.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to shriek at the beast which had caused this merciless chain of events. I wanted to tear that ball of self-hatred apart molecule by molecule with my own bare hands before scorching it in the flames of hell. I wanted to kill it. Yet I wanted to run. I snatched the wand in the hopes that maybe a fleck of magic would erupt from within and shield me from the monster. But as I got back to my feet those two eyes of soul-crushing pearl white gleamed through the shadows, separating themselves like oil from water, and hurled themselves my way. I was a goner for sure. But like the slit of a Peverell's throat in the night, a lone cape found its way to us in the nick of time, snatching our figures from the night and vanishing without a trace.

And that was the night I met him. And it all ended with a run and a trip.

 

 

 

 


	2. A Strange New World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You find yourself in the place of your childhood dreams: Hogwarts.

It felt like my insides had been caught in an axel, like my mind was being strained through a tube. Bright lights blurred in my vision and static roared, reverberating throughout my muscles, inducing spasms and shrieks to erupt from my lungs until-

 

Face down. I found myself face down, my chest and thighs coated in a layer of soft mud whilst the heavens above poured down reservoirs, etching lakes and breathing life into springs across the landscape. As if lifeless, I slid for a while across the dirt until I finally found the strength to thrust my hands forward and grind me to an aching halt. A bitter, slimy taste then overcame my panic. Ew. It was like I was spitting out the remainder of my dignity as the grit once stuck in my teeth managed to escape my lips. And so I just sat there, feeling like an animal, an outcast...and I didn't know where I was. Not until I directed my sight to a vision far more enchanting.

 

Hogwarts. It was Hogwarts. And it beckoned me in. But that would have to wait.

 

I turned on my heel to face the cloaked man who now gripped Rolf's unconscious figure in his arms. Though deep in sleep, his hand gripped loosely onto his wand, flopping from his abdomen to give a final subconscious wave. The shadow of a man nodded a parting goodbye before turning his face and disapparating into the night...just as Rolf's fingertips gave way and delivered a gift to the ground.

 

A wand. He'd left his wand.

 

I scurried over to the puddle it fell in, squelching and wading my way through the storm, with the moon's grace as my flashlight. I rifled through every last drop of muddied water before grasping it tightly in my fist, proceeding to dab it clean against the crumples of my dress.

 

It was different. It felt different from any other toy replica I had seen. From the wood to the core, it was new. It was curious. It was almost as long as my arm! And yet it couldn't be, shouldn't be, mustn't be real. Maybe I got drunk fell asleep on the sofa. Maybe I was murdered on the way to the ball. Maybe I was living in my own Truman show and, any minute now, this will be revealed as one big prank and I could flee to the outside world eager to start my life over as a Columbian goat farmer! But no, this was all strangely and...scarily real.

 

The rain battered against me with more force than ever, sending shockwaves and shivers down my back as if silver splintering against and piercing open my already fragile skin. But it made me stronger. It all made me stronger. I felt like a warrior. I felt defiant. And so ready to face my fate whatever it was, I stumbled to my feet and began to pace towards the sheltered bridge, eager to seek a truth untold festering inside.

 

Another flash of fury later and I awoke in Dumbledore's office - such a staple of like that couldn't be mistaken really. It was a miracle I was still able to remember anything about this place in all honesty. Surely I should've been obliviated by now? But there he stood, purple gown and all, accompanied by who looked like the Minister for Magic with a rather intrigued Kingsley Shacklebolt at his side. In awe, they had gathered around what looked like a pensieve, dipping their heads in and out of what I can only presume to be a memory extracted from myself whilst unconscious. In what seemed like deep conversation, the trio muttered and nodded towards one another, scarcely aware of my awakening.

 

"Though the meaning of this encounter is unclear," Dumbledore began, "I'm certain the Minister will agree that there must be a reason for a muggle to have been handpicked from a party and brought inside the wizarding world"

 

"As right as you may be, Professor" returned Cornelius, "this is a clear breach of the statute of secrecy! What if she exposes us to the muggle world? It would be a disaster!"

 

"I'm sure she means no harm," Albus grinned, shifting his gaze towards me, "Isn't that right, Y/N?". Dumbstruck as I was, I nodded fervently, desperate to retain the memories of a place so...well, magical.

 

"After all, it was apparently I from the future who ordered the poor thing to my doorstep"

 

"Very well," Fudge concluded, "but if I even hear a whisper of a breach-"

 

"-It's perfectly safe in my hands, Minister"

 

"Good." And with that, Cornelius stormed towards the door; Kingsley, on the other hand, leaned in.

 

"You don't suppose she...already knew, do you?"

 

"That much is not yet apparent"

 

"Understood". And in the same fashion as his boss, the equally robed man fled. Upon closing the door, Fawkes began wailing at his owner, vigorously poking his tiny head through a grave made of ash. Affectionately, Albus stroked his tiny little head before returning his attention to me: the muggle who was still sat upright in the middle of the floor.

 

"Strange things have been happening, Y/N. Strange things indeed. And you're no exception. Tell me, what do you know of this place?". Awkwardly, I tucked my ruffled locks behind my ears and began to formulate an answer.

 

"Um...A bit, I guess?"

 

"What's so special about my bird, Fawkes?"

 

"He's a phoenix. He's immortal. His tears have healing powers"

 

"What's so special about my wand?"

 

"It's the elder wand, the most powerful wand in existence"

 

"And what is the elder wand an example of?"

 

"A deathly hallow. The other two being the resurrection stone and the invisibility cloak, with both being in your possession"

 

"Interesting" he muttered from beneath his impressive beard, pacing towards a window, "and how did you come across all this knowledge? Is there a witch or wizard in your family?"

 

"Harry Potter, sir. It's a book series where I'm from. The era, that is. What's the year here?"

 

"'91. But from the looks of it, you already know that. What gave it away?"

 

"You keep looking wistfully across the lake, sir. He returns tonight, am I correct?". The wise man let out a sigh as rich as time.

 

"You are. And I fear, things will get even stranger from here on out. But what's life without a little fun?". Together, we chuckled at the idea of it, but a prescient tear still lingered in my eyes for I knew of the horrors about to unfold. I was brought to this specific time and place. Why? To stop it? To stop someone else from fucking everything up? Is this some Cursed Child shit right here? Am I gonna fuck every last thing up? Who knows! But Dumbledore just nodded politely, instructing me to head to a spare living quarter and venture to the staff room at seven o'clock sharpish. Only then would I perhaps find an adequate use for myself.

 

It is the 1st September 1991. And this is where it all began.


	3. Seven O'Clock Sharpish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McGonagall escorts you to the staff meeting and Peeves makes an innovative dad joke.

It was just a wall. A wall I ran my hand against. And now it’s a door. An open door. And it’s open for me.

 

“Your quarters, m’lady,” remarked the amiable house elf, tipping a charcoal fedora as he wandered away, “enjoyyy”. This entire day was beginning to feel like a strange occurrence…

 

Before me was a true sight to behold. Pots and pans bewitched into motion wooshed across my line of sight, a solid distraction from the plum curtains billowing through the breeze, shielding the window from the beasts which laid outside. The open kitchen brought life the noticeably refurbished furniture of the living room, presented like an extended arm, the snug potential of the beige leather sofa pleading for my presence. And, like an obedient child, I hurled my being at it, landing myself face-first into an emerald cushion, greeting me with the long-awaited comfort of peace.

 

Sleep embraced me almost immediately and I awoke in the midst of my dreams. A montage of memories confined me, my own conscience locking my vision onto flashes of green light from a serpentine creature, screams and shrieks erupting from mouths of whom I can only guess were Lily Potter and Cedric Diggory. And there I stood, at the bottom of the astronomy tower as the wise man fell. And there I watched, eyes fixated on the bleeding body of Severus Snape in the shrieking shack. And there I froze, staring at the shackled giant whose wails drowned atmosphere which nothing more than hopelessness grasped at the corpse of Harry James Potter. Or at least, that's what they thought...

 

"Sometimes, we can change the passage of time," a wizened voice spoke, muffled as if there was a wall of ocean between us, "to prevent a terrible fate". A face grew in my mind but dissipated before it the blur could evolve any further. Ripples of memory came and left, and the familiar voice was no more...

 

I bolted upright at the sound of a knock. Unlike my nightmares, it was concise and purposeful. Reality. This was my reality. So I swung my legs from atop of the sofa and ventured towards the oak-panelled door.

 

There, at the entrance, stood a dishevelled and disheartened Minerva McGonagall, pointy hat and all, tapping nervously at the face of her wristwatch.

 

"Ah, Miss [Y/L/N], it's ten to six. I was wondering if you wished someone to accompany you to the staff room"

 

"It would be my pleasure, M-"

 

"-Minerva. I'm sure you'll find your feet eventually". The two of you scuttled along the castle corridors, the synergy non-existant. In fact, the scenario was closer to impatient adult dragging a clueless first-year to detention than a badass duo. But the badass duo had to wait.

 

Smack.

 

"PEEVES!" cried Minerva, a frustrated heel clapping against the stone and her hips turned to face him, "That is no way to treat a member of staff!"

 

"OoooOOooh. And who is our new friend?"

 

"Miss [Y/L/N]. Now, if you don't mind," asserted she, readjusting her composure, "I'm sure her perfectly innocent face can handle not having a staple in magical literature thrown at it". Out of the blue, Peeves' expression morphed into one of intense concentration.

 

"Book...on her face..." he muttered, "face on her....book. Face...BOOK! AHA!"

 

"It's a pity, but that ridiculous and highly illogical nickname may stick with you for the duration of your stay"

 

"Why would he name me after face....". And then I realised, it's 1991. And Peeves just invented Facebook 13 years early; my new nickname is nothing short of innovation, a dad joke ahead of its time!

 

"What, dear?"

 

"Oh, nothing. What's the time?". Minerva diverted her gaze swiftly towards the clockface.

 

"We have 6 minutes, my dear, " she assured me, guiding me away from the ghoul with a tap on the arm, "Let's get moving". Across into an endless room of staircases, we went. House-elves stood at the bottom, lined up ready to attention, eager to be bombarded with luggage accompanied by the melodic delirium of wizarding pets. It would be raucous, dissonant chaos. It would be a true sight to behold. And, for the chaotic neutral at heart, it would be glorious.

 

"One of these years," I told myself, "I'm gonna sit at the top of this staircase and watch the madness unfold. And I'm gonna laugh like Satan herself. And then I'm gonna cry out of self-loathing". Yes, this was truly the life I lived.

 

Our pace sped up as the clocktower bellowed, with multiple steps in time with every chime, loud enough to silence the wildest dreams breathed by our hearts.

 

Ding...

 

Ding...

 

Ding...

 

A sigh of relief. We made it right on time.

 

"This year, we are glad to be joined by a ministry approved volunteer," announced Dumbledore as I entered the room, his arm already outstretched towards me in anticipation, "Please give a warm welcome to [Y/F/N]". The length and breadth of the room broke out in applause. Sprout beamed, Flitwick nodded, Snape grinned, Quirrell quaked in his shoes. And like the ironic monster I am, I succumbed to a courtesy. See, I know my place.

 

"She will be keeping an eye on any strange occurrences," he continued, brushing his gaze momentarily against Quirrell, "and so if any matter of interest arises, she shall be the appropriate person to discuss it with". For the record, I don't even trust myself to hold a pen correctly let alone protect the population of an entire school from Voldemort! But, in Dumbledore fashion, I didn't have a choice. And as calmly as ever, he exploded out the door, but not before reminding the rest of us that the sorting starts at 9. Oh, what a long 7 years it'll be.

 

 


	4. Bewitched and Bewildered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sorting Ceremony begins now.

A hop and a skip is all it took and there I stood, bathing in the beauty of the candlelight. Bewitched and bewildered, the waxworks littered the artificial skies, raging with flames of desire, burning bright with anticipation against the odds. Soon enough, the next generation of witches and wizards would assemble below. Soon enough, their hearts will be set alight and their minds will glow in the embers of potential. Soon enough, the saviour of the wizarding world will set foot upon the stone and grace the hall with a smile bolder than the Sun. But soon enough, it will be too soon.

 

The wise soul positioned himself beneath the flares and remained, after all this time, captivated, revelling in a rapture. With pure delight and arms open wide, Dumbledore twirled on his heel to greet us all, a grin as old as time radiating seas of harmony towards us, the staff.

 

"Another year, another sorting" began Albus as he turned his face from the starry night above, "how time flies when you're having fun". The rest of us beamed at his optimism whilst Minerva hurried to place down a chair, scurrying away to retrieve its respective hat.

 

"Now, now, we must gather at the table before the children-"

 

"-arrive..." I finished. The great wooden doors sprung open and they all came flooding in: every creed, every sex, every disposition. They all gathered here, united as one. A wave of chatter brushed against the flames but not a word was enough to extinguish the fire lit by hope, not a sentence which could disrupt the equanimity of the night.

 

After what felt like an eternity held in the grasp of awe, I realised I was the only member of staff still standing, mouth hung open in front of the sorting hat. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget the judgmental glare I received. Nor will I ever get over the fact that I was traumatised by a hat.

 

"It's been a long day, " I assured myself, wiping the spit from my lips. Ready to embrace what the future held for me, I made the executive decision to jump over the table to get to my seat. Sure, it looked cool at the time but pulling multiple muscles in your side actually doing exercise reminded me of how far I'd strayed from God's light and that I was never going to be good enough to become as badass as Molly Weasley; it sure as hell was a hard pill to swallow.

 

Eventually, the commotion settled down and, just like my lazy ass, the older kids settled down, anticipating the arrival of the first years. Cutlery quaked, voices faltered and my remaining brain cells bundled my stomach into the back of a van as, lo and behold, Minerva McGonagall reentered the castle hall, an army of confused eleven-year-olds at her side. Sitting appropriately (cross-legged) in my seat, I relaxed my shoulders and pretended to be someone important - I probably looked like a twat.

 

From my lacklustre throne, my favouritism pandered to my vigilant side, and soon I spotted the young girl with buck teeth, the prat who styled his bleach-blonde hair to show off his widow's peak (who does that), the Potter and, most importantly, the Weasley. Don't ask me why. Okay, I'm a borderline sociopath but that's not the point.

 

The sorting went quicker and much smoother than expected. Well, apart from the intense near-hatstall moment with my girl, Hermione. But I think it's safe to say I didn't need long fingernails anyway. Besides, there's probably a spell.

 

As predicted, Dumbledore's speech was short and sweet and, with the click of his fingers, we were all greeted with meals that would make Gordon Ramsay weep. Whether or not for better or for worse is highly debatable. I, for one, enjoyed the pasta cooked by the voluntary house slaves. My favourite moment from the night, however, had to be spying on Severus spying on Potter and then watching Potter spy back and then Severus realising I was spying, leading to him spying on me. I'm such an attention whore. Anyway, I think it's safe to say that the universe is going through a mid-life crisis and I am very scared by it all. 

 


End file.
